


Song for the Sea

by CytoSprout



Series: DnD Drabbles [2]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types, Original Work
Genre: :(, Background Fluff, D&D, Dragonborn - Freeform, Dungeons and Dragons, Gen, God I’m sorry, Human Variant, Injury, Irish cursing, Kenku, Lizardfolk, Oh dad???, Poor Spanish Usage, Tiefling, Unexpected Father Figure, aarakocra - Freeform, art included, child with a stab wound, cleric, dnd, from THOSE TWO LESBIANS, rogue - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2020-09-01 08:41:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20255311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CytoSprout/pseuds/CytoSprout
Summary: “You’re not supposed to be here.” Claire husks at him, her voice shot from when she let out a startled choke at his interruption. She’s surprised at how authoritative her voice comes out.“No, I’m not. Will you tell?” The man asks, his orange eyes pleading.___When Claire, an aarakocra cleric, is inevitably dragged onto a ship by her teammates, she expected getting sick—of course, it’s common sense, especially for her weak stomach. What she didn’t expect was to meet a stowaway.





	1. Chapter 1

The boat trip is taking forever.

Claire isn’t fond of the open seas. She feels her stomach roll in tandem with the tides lapping against the side of the boat. She covers her mouth and leans over the side, hoping to not hurl again. A finished meal is never good wasted. She swallows the bile in her throat, groaning uncomfortably at the taste. 

Unawyn was the one that decided this would be a good mission, though Claire has no idea why. Unawyn is a fire sorcerer, for god’s sake— she doesn’t belong out on the ocean either. Though as Claire turns and spots her, Unawyn seems to be enjoying herself, a toothy smile spreading across her face as she hangs off of some of the sail ropes attached to the main support pillar.

Vyltia had reluctantly agreed, and even she (the stoic one of the group) looks seasick, but is doing a good job of pretending she doesn’t want to lose her lunch.

What a bad idea lunch was.

“WHOOOO!” Unawyn screams against the sound of the waves, tasting the salt on her tongue.

“Having fun, there?” Vyltia asks, subtly covering her mouth.

“Duh! Get your red ass over here and feel the WIND. I thought tieflings were supposed to be free-spirited!”

Claire watches as Vyltia’s tail lashes behind her in irritation before Aloefair comes blasting out of the crew quarters, bread in hand. Aloefair’s eyes go wide at Unawyn as she stuffs the entire loaf of bread into her mouth before running up to the ropes and hanging off the opposite side of Unawyn’s space. She giggles and crumbs of bread fall out of her mouth. 

“HELL YEA ALOEFAIR, FEEL THE SEA!”

“Mf Mphh!” Aloefair swallows hard, before trying again, “Feck yeah!”

They cheer, both dragonborn and lizardfolk’s teeth baring against the blazing sun. Aloefair panics as one of her wool cactuses almost comes off before Unawyn snags it, and they both look at each other before laughing again. 

Claire moves over next to Vyltia to watch them goof off. “Should we stop them?” She asks, noticing the crew’s distaste for the commotion. 

Vyltia shrugs and picks at her teeth. “Let them have this.” She looks towards the crew and a few quickly glance away. “If they have anything to say they can say it to me.”

Claire sees them soak up the wind like dogs on a cart, their tongues hanging out unabashedly. She huffs at the sight. “I haven’t seen Unawyn smile this much since we got a discount off of that huge ham back in Weheavern.” She feels a smile tug at her beak.

“Indeed. I’ve also never seen someone eat so savagely.” Vyltia shutters.

Claire allows herself to laugh before falling back into considerable silence next to Vyltia. Aloefair and Unawyn’s whoops don’t die down until the sun is setting, causing them to hop down and land on their asses.

“Fuck!” Unawyn hisses. “My legs are numb.”

“Mine too.” Aloefair gasps and lets out another giggle. 

“Alright, both of you, get up.” Vyltia orders, leaning down to help up Aloefair in particular. Aloefair gives her a bright smile, one Vyltia has to look away from in fear of her heart exploding. Both of their tails seem to sway softly at the attention.

“Why only her?” Unawyn grumbles, getting a hand from Claire.

“Because she’s my fdasyr.” 

“Every time you gush in infernal I lose another bit of my brain.” Unawyn pretends to barf. 

“Like you even have one.” Vyltia smiles, her fangs showing.

They punch each other’s shoulders while Claire pats Aloefair’s clothes to make her seem more presentable. Aloefair chuckles fondly, taking Claire’s hands in thanks. “I’m fine, Claire. You’re such an angel, really.” 

“Don’t know why I put up with this treatment,” Unawyn says, rubbing her shoulder in faux pain.

“For the money? And you love us all dearly?” Aloefair sings, drawing Unawyn into an unwanted hug.

“THE MONEY, ONLY THE MONEY.”

Aloefair laughs mischievously as they dance around the deck, Unawyn trying to wrestle her off and shouting cusses. Vyltia grins, then turns and enters the crew’s quarters. Claire sighs, wiping droplets of sea water from her feathers. She’d have to get used to the rowdiness of her team. Claire isn’t used to being around these sorts of personalities. She grew up isolated in a church, learning everything there is to know about healing others by her god and the worn books that lined one of the bedrooms. Well, those and her actual teacher, but she loathes remembering the stern old woman. 

“CLAIRE HELP SHE’S TEARING OFF MY SCALES,” Unawyn screeches, tugging one of Aloefair’s horns in defiance.

Aloefair hisses out a guffaw, crushing Unawyn’s chest. “ONLY BECAUSE YOU’RE FIGHTING BACK!”

Claire has her work cut out for her, for sure.

  


_______________

  


As everything stills in the quiet night, Claire finds herself unable to sleep. The nausea is causing her too much distraction, as well as the anxiety of the mission ahead. She groans and turns on her side. She has tried everything—though she isn’t desperate enough to cast calm emotions on herself. Getting up sounds better at this point; at least she could distract herself with something. She sighs and is careful to leave the hammock so as to not alert her teammates. Her talons tap softly against the wooden floors, the sound of the waves against the boat covering her departure. 

The deck is even prettier at night, she has to admit. The sea glistens with the reflection of the moon, and the stars wink at her from high in the sky. The water is nice to her now, the rocking only gentle compared to earlier. She breathes in through her nose, letting her chest expand with the sound of the waves. Claire leans against the side of a fairly secluded part of the boat, free not to be interrupted by anyone that may ask questions. She watches the horizon calmly, then starts to sing a prayer to her god, Nilil. Nilil had given her comfort in her isolated lifestyle, and she loved reading the different poems and songs people wrote about them when she was holed up in her room. 

Out over the sea her voice rings, until a crate behind her makes a loud bang as it falls from its original position. Claire startles and whips around to see two glowing orange eyes fixed on her.

Oh. It is hard to see in the dark, but she feels a chill run up her spine after realizing this person has tabaxi features. She spots the dull claws that grip the fallen crate, hoping too little too late to catch it before it hit the ground.

“I’m so sorry muñeca, I didn’t mean to disturb your peace. You sang so beautifully, I couldn’t help but listen.” This person’s words weave soft pleasantries, a hint of flirtation within. Claire flusters, grips her book, and starts to leave. “No no! Please wait,” the man exclaims, following behind her, “I don’t need anyone knowing I’m here, hm?” The man whispers, putting a finger to his lips and winking at her.

Claire can see him better as he steps out. His brown, unkempt hair is loosely tied in a ponytail, one that flips up in separate places. His nose is dark like that of a dwarf’s, but his tan face is mostly human, not counting the sharp teeth and whiskers. His clothes are covered in dust as if he’d been hauled up in a basement for a week. Lastly, she notices the tail swaying eagerly behind him. Ah, a tabaxi human mix, is it?

Speaking of, she hasn’t seen him on the ship, even though they’ve been at sea for three days now. How did he get on? Or was he here the entire time? She squints at him, abruptly realizing he was a stowaway. 

“You’re not supposed to be here.” Claire husks at him, her voice shot from when she let out a startled choke at his interruption. She’s surprised at how authoritative her voice comes out.

“No, I’m not. Will you tell?” The man asks, his orange eyes pleading.

The white aarakocra pauses. She really should alert the crew, but something in her mind tells her to let whatever this is play out. Her eyes glance down to the scars on his neck and arms, nasty looking, like they hadn’t healed properly. Her gaze is suddenly blocked by him pulling down his long sleeves in response to her prying. “Yes or no?” He asks again, a bit more serious this time.

She knows what it was like to be in places where she wasn’t supposed to, and also remembers the lashings her teacher gave her. Her beak shuts tight before she inhales to calm her nerves. There is a moment where they just stare at each other before she answers. “I won’t tell.” Claire decides and watches as his shoulders visibly slump in relief. “But if you get caught, I never met you.” She says.

The man smiles at that, his tail curling in delight. “Of course. Never met.” He hops onto a crate, careful to make sure it is sturdy this time. The man whistles out a tiny tune— the one Claire was singing earlier. She bristles and steps forward quickly.

“Don’t sing that, p-please,” she hisses in a whisper, darting her hand out to take his wrist. The man looks down at her, a bit of surprise leaking into his expression. “That’s the song for my god. I doubt you worship them.”

“Which god?” He asks, still smiling. The smile is starting to unnerve her.

“N-Nilil.” She lets go of his wrist after noticing she had gripped it to stop him. “The god of poetry and song.”

“Ah. So singing means a lot to this god, I take it?” 

“Yes, I-I’d rather only their followers sing that piece.” Claire speaks softly as she twiddles her fingers anxiously. 

“Hm. My god is all around us, and she enjoys any song.” He gazes out towards the sea.

Claire shows her confusion. “The ocean is your god?”

“No muñeca! But Umberlee, she is the goddess of the sea. She blesses my unlawful travels so that I may bask in the world’s belleza.” He hums and grins from ear to ear.

“I-I see.” Claire lets herself soak in the silence for a while. “It is weird how we know which gods we worship but not each other’s names.”

He laughs. “Not as strange as you might think. I’m Dusty.” 

It sounds like a nickname more than a name. She feels suspicious of him again and squints. “Claire Meringue.” She states, taking his hand in a weak grip before letting it fall back to his side. His hands are like paws. Huh, weird.

“Miss Meringue, eh? Or maybe Mrs. Meringue?” Dusty suggests, stroking his chin.

“Oh…? OH! No no no, I’m— I’m not married,” Claire exclaims, wildly gesturing with her hands in her embarrassment. “That is— That’s—“ she chokes, “—not for me.”

“Nonsense!” He says, taking one of her hands in his own and giving her a small kiss on her knuckles. He looks up at her to see her face aflame, and he laughs at her plight. “I take it you’ve never been flirted with?”

“N-No, me?” Claire laughs a bit hysterically in disbelief before clearing her throat. “No... No.” She is unable to meet his gaze.

“A shame.” Dusty whispers, releasing her hand. She holds her hand back close to her chest, uncomfortable with the attention. His eyes wrinkle with mirth. “If I’ve made you uncomfortable, I apologize.”

“No, you’re— you’re fine.” Claire sighs, clutching her chest feathers. “If you don’t mind, I, I have to...” She looks back towards the crew quarters. 

Dusty hums. “Por supuesto. I hope you are able to sleep this time?”

“Y-Yes.” As she briskly walks back, she hears him say:

“Goodnight sweet muñeca! May you not see me again, for your own safety!” His laugh is bright and leaves her chest fluttering for reasons she can’t place. 

When she enters the room, she shuts the door behind her and lets out a relieved breath. She too, wishes she wouldn’t have to deal with him again.

Hopefully he would continue being good at skulking in the shadows.


	2. Manos Sanadoras

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You said his name was Gawl?”
> 
> “You caught that?” He laughs, pointedly looking away from her. “Yeah. That’s his name. Gawl. I’ve looked after him for years. No one really knows about him. Well... except for you now, I suppose.” He strokes his chin to hide his embarrassment.
> 
> “So you’re like a dad?” She catches herself saying a bit too late.  
___
> 
> Claire decided not to let Dusty get under her feathers anymore, but the subtle tone of worry in his voice leaves her with no choice but to follow along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to merge these together. It didn’t make much sense to keep them apart.

“Miss Meringue!”

  
A smooth voice yells at her, causing her to startle and look behind her.  
  
The offending tabaxi human hangs upside down, giving her a toothy grin with a pop of his tail. His rugged clothes sag, his shirt torn and dirty and his pants a bit too large for his lanky body. His smile is nasty but somehow charming and bright when directed at her. He hops down with a swift and skilled leap as she sighs and approaches.  
  
“Hello Dusty, is there something you need?”  
  
When his dimples appear, she notices his cheeks are more sunken than usual. “Why, nothing much other than to see my favorite cleric!”  
  
She gives him a pointed but patient look, one he knows well from his long lost mother.  
  
He gives a nervous laugh. “Aah. You always see through me. I need your manos sanadoras, y’see.” He gives her a sly wink and lifts her hands in his to try to charm her.  
  
“In common, please.” Her eyebrows knit together and her chest feathers fluff a bit. He’s always made her a bit nervous with his casual flirtation.  
  
“Healing hands! I need your healing hands, querido. My familiares is in a bit of trouble, and not to rush or anything, but I need an answer rápidamente.”  
  
Claire pauses to look at his expression. His charming eyes that normally seem very lively are tired. His smile is wobbly at best, which is very unlike him. In other words, he looks ready to pass out from worry. She frowns and, in an uncharacteristic manner, squeezes his hands to try to ground him. His eyes widen slightly, but she gives nothing away other than a serious look. “Alright. Alright, show me the way.”  
  
Dusty’s expression turns a bit softer, more vulnerable than she’s ever seen before. Then it is gone and replaced with his jovial energy once again. “Well madame, wouldn’t want to keep your patient waiting, eh?” He twirls her in a circle, catching her off guard, then saunters quicker than normal towards their destination while still gripping her hand. His face is hidden from behind, but she feels he’s wearing a distressed frown.  
  
A frown didn’t belong on that face. Her beak tightens as she follows him as best as she can.  
  
______  
  
  
It takes a while, but they get to their destination. A dirty alleyway covered in boxes with nasty, grime covered rats scurrying about. It is damp and gross, and Claire understandably finds herself disgusted. What gives her pause is the small kenku child coughing out their lungs. Dusty lets go of Claire’s hand and approaches quietly, influencing Claire to do the same. “Now muñeca, be careful, you don’t want to startle him. He freaks easily, so be quiet.”  
  
Claire gives a small hum in response, close behind him. She finds herself missing the feel of his hand in hers, probably due to the weird mix of human-paws he has, but doesn’t let herself think too hard about it.  
  
The kenku notices Dusty and gives a pathetic trill, backing into the box with a torn blanket covering the front.  
  
“Sh, shhh querido, I’ve brought help. Everything will be okay now, sí? Confía en mí.” He speaks softly in his native tongue, moving closer slowly and reaching out a hand to pull away the blanket.  
  
The raven child gives another awful sounding cough as Dusty uncovers them. Claire stiffens and releases a small gasp as she realizes a bone deep stab wound near the child’s stomach. It looks to be infected.  
  
“Oh dear,” she croaks and leans down slowly into the kenku’s space. They chirp pathetically, and Claire thinks she spots wet streaks where tears once were running down their cheeks. She carefully peels back the shirt on their body before meeting some resistance. The wound has congealed to the fabric. “Oh no...” She says softly, before looking up at Dusty with a hesitant expression.  
  
“Can you help him? Please tell me yes.” Dusty says, holding his hands together.  
  
“Y-Yes, I can but,” she looks back down at the wound, the sight dragging a hiss out of her, “it is going to hurt to do this.” She gently takes the kenku’s chin and lifts it, allowing him to look into her eyes. “العزيز... This is going to sting very badly.”  
  
“Sting?” The kenku imitates, afraid of her tone of voice.

“Yes, yes, it is going to hurt badly. I’m so sorry dear, but I need you to clench your beak for me. Grip my hand if you need to.”

The kenku gives her a nervous nod and prepares, reaching for her. She grasps his hand in a show of comfort as she inhales, then quickly rips off the offending fabric soaked with his blood. The kenku lets out a harsh wail in response, almost making Claire tear up. He breathes heavily as she takes it the rest of the way off. There is a small moment where she isn’t gripping his hand anymore, but he quickly scrambles to crush her hand back in his when the shirt is fully gone. 

“Good. Good, you did so well dear. Very very well, I’m so proud of you, that was the hardest part.” She speaks softly hoping to calm him and watches the child’s chest expand and retreat erratically. His grip is strong, but it doesn’t bother her if it is helping to ground the poor thing. “The easiest part is next, you’ll feel much better. Keep still now.”

Her hands hover over the wound, almost brushing it in their proximity as she murmurs a few arcane words. A soft light like that of dawn emerges from her hands, and the wound slowly closes. After it is done, Claire sighs in relief. She thinks she hears Dusty do the same. He leans down into the kenku’s space and brushes a hand against his cold, sweat covered cheek. 

“Buen trabajo, Gawl. Estoy orgulloso de ti.” Dusty whispers, giving the small kenku a brush of his lips against his forehead. He trills in response, sounding tired. Dusty then looks up at Claire and smiles. “Thank you so much. You have no idea how worried I was for him.”

Claire, for the first time in a while, smiles back. “Of course. Anything for kin.” She stands and brushes away the grime from kneeling down. “You said his name was Gawl?”

“You caught that?” He laughs, pointedly looking away from her. “Yeah. That’s his name. Gawl. I’ve looked after him for years. No one really knows about him. Well... except for you now, I suppose.” He strokes his chin to hide his embarrassment.

“So you’re like a dad?” She catches herself saying a bit too late.

“A dad!” He bursts out a laugh, covering his mouth. “No, no. Well, maybe. I’m not sure. I first met him when he was trying to pick my pocket, then I stopped him and taught him how to really do it.” Dusty grins at the memory. “Next thing I know he’s cuddling against me for warmth and eating my food.”

Claire listens as she watches his expression morph to extreme fondness for the kenku next to him. She smiles wide. “I see. So, a dad.”

“Callarse! Seriously. Not a dad.” Dusty grumbles, standing up to be beside her.

“Not a dad?” Gawl suddenly says from below, causing a startled laugh to fall from Claire’s beak. Dusty gives her a withering glare before turning back to Gawl. 

“Not helping, cuervo sarnoso.”

Claire looks at the scene in front of her. Maybe Dusty’s visits wouldn’t be so bad anymore if she had this to look forward to.


End file.
